


Memories (Pit-stops on the Road)

by MarvelouslyMadMM



Series: Aughts and Oughts [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: A/B/O, AU world history, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blasphemy, Blood, Bucky has no time for that shit, Derogatory Language, F/F, F/M, General Trigger Warning, Half Roma! Barnes, Intentional Misgendering, Intersex issues, Intersex phobia, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Mild dub-con implied in how instincts work, Misgendering, Misogyny, Multi, Omega Steve Rogers, Omega Verse, Other, Period Typical Attitudes, Period Typical Homophobia, Period appropriate medical ideas, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Polyamory, Polyverse, Psuedo-peganism, Raised as an Alpha, Religion, Religious Guilt, Religious Slurs, Steve playing Martyr, Underage - Freeform, Underage 14 year old and 13 year old boys bonding to each other, Violence, accidental misgendering, self hate, underage boys fumbling in the dark, underage talk of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:31:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5377043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelouslyMadMM/pseuds/MarvelouslyMadMM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve grew up knowing many things. <br/>He grew up knowing he was a broken alpha. He knew he was an invert, in more than one way. He knew he was a pervert, and he struggled to overcome it his whole life. <br/>He gets to Camp Leigh, and suddenly, everything he knew, was wrong.</p>
<p>Gift for the Omega!Steve fic exchange! Many thanks to Calihart for her patience, I was quite late spanking and delivering this bad boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaliHart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaliHart/gifts).



> All mistakes are mine.   
> Please see series warnings for larger overview-   
> Aughts and Oughts will be explained in another fic- I removed mentions from this fic for simplicity's sake, just saying high or low spectrum.
> 
> There will be a second SHORT chapter with info on Slang and it's historical links. :)

Life is a road, it winds through events, each event shaping the road, and in turn shaping the person traveling on it.

Steve has traveled farther than most. His road has been rough, but it has always been his. **  
**

It’s the memories that we hold onto that set the terrain of the road when we look back.

Like a stack of postcards. Or a series of photo booth strips. The only problem is, every time we look at them, we change them. **  
**

 

That’s the thing about memories. We think of them, and think truths. Instead, memories are all about how we perceived in the moment.

But they are also colored by how we perceive things now.

-

Steve’s very first memory is of a Doctor’s visit.

He can’t be much older than four.

He remembers mom being excited. That the visiting specialist was willing to see him. She had to do a half shift on the ward, but he’d be okay with the man.

He remembers the man poking and prodding, and remembers wanting to cry a lot at the way the man said things about Steve. Steve had curled up when the large man commented to his assistant that Steve was a “Poor thing. It will be homely, even for a beta girl”. He was made to sit in a wood chair while his mom was brought in to talk with the doctor in private. The door didn’t close all the way, so Steve may as well have stayed in the room.

He remembers the shouting and yelling of his mother, but it is the words of the specialist that really stayed with him. “He’s malformed! He can’t ever be a proper Alpha, not with his body! It’d be kinder to just clip the malformed parts, make it into a more reasonable beta, train it to be a girl instead!” His mother had shrilled, her clenched hands snapping the clipboard she was carrying into pieces. Steve had been scared and upset, unable to stop a sob- it had drawn his mother’s attention away from the doctor just in time. Not that he had understood that at the time.

When he tearfully tells his mother that he never wants to see another doctor on the way home, she negotiates instead that there will be no more specialists. Only doctors she knows well and trusts fully.

-

Steve never does strip off his underwear in a doctor’s office again.

-

Steve’s earliest good memory is of sitting at an old Alpha’s feet in front of a fire. He’s not related to her, he knows that. But at the time, he called her Gran.

She tells him stories. So many stories of Angels. Of Saints. Of a single God, and his only son. A son who died for the sins of humanity. An Alpha, the ultimate Alpha, who lived for teaching us just as he died for our souls.

She tells him of miracles, and sacrifices.

He only has vague recollections of the stories she must have told most nights.

No, he remembers her so clearly because of one of the last stories she told him before she died.

She told him of Angels, that disguised themselves as Doctors, to save his mother and him. That he would grow up blessed. Because God had a purpose for him. She died not long after that night, but Steve remembers the warmth of her stove. The cushions at her feet.

The taste of cream and sugar mixed in with his tea as he stared up at her, rapt. Because this was a story of his life, instead of a story of super beings in ancient times, it was a story of goodness, of triumph. Of the triumph of his mother. Of how he was somehow going to be important. Going to be worthwhile.

-

Steve’s third memory is of a few months later, after the funeral of Mrs. Jones. He was huddled under blankets, trying to read the large and fancy bible that Gran, Mrs. Jones, left him. He now had nowhere to go when his mom worked late, so he’d had hours to study the bible’s few drawings. His lungs were hurting with every breath he took. He might have cried earlier, but it is more likely he was sick, he was always sick.

He remembers feeling empty and aching inside as he traced a colorful illustration of an Angel fighting a Devil. He remembers wondering, as he shivered under the blankets, if the doctors in her story of his own birth really were Angels. It seemed more likely that they were instead Devils. Because he shouldn’t be alive, and is a burden. Everyone said so. Besides, he could see it, it showed in the lines around his mother’s eyes.

-

Steve’s next memory is of later that day, or so he thinks. It is the only time he says that idea aloud for years. When he does, his mother grabs his shoulders, her face looks so stricken even as she calmly explains that they were doctors. That if they were anything supernatural, they were indeed Angels. Because Steve is her _blessing_. Her everything. Without him, she doesn’t know how she could go on. He is all she has ever wanted in life, besides his father. He is all she has left of his father, and she loves him so very much. He is the best of his father, no matter what anyone says, he is perfect, just as he is.

Steve cries in her arms all night that night, because his mother is trying so hard not to cry herself. He cries because it hurts to stand and aches to sit and burns to breathe but since his mother needs him, he will keep doing that, no matter what. It was always so cold in the flat, his mother can’t afford the extra wood to heat it all evening and night. But that memory, of falling asleep crying in his mother’s arms, of the struggle to breathe and her own muffled tears dampening his hair, always feels warm when he remembers it.

-

Steve remembers that night, remembers how much he is loved, and how he is the best of his father, whenever he is struggling with bullies. He struggles with them often, because he is so small and sick so often. His first year of school is hell, but he has that memory to keep his head held high.

Steve’s next memories are larger, deeper. This is the real meat and potatoes of who Steven Grant Rogers sees when he looks back. These memories all share a theme. They have a dark haired beanpole of a boy in them.

-

Steve grasps for the warm memory of his mother as he is surrounded by bigger boys in the alley after his first day of Physical Education at school. His newest jacket, special made for wearing to second grade, is scuffed and he thinks there might be a tear forming in the shoulder. He can barely hear their words, terrible things they’re shouting like “fairy baby” and “invert pervert!” or worse “GIRL! You’re nothin but a failed alpha GIRL!”, because his ears are rushing with his own pounding heart.

His fists are clenched, and his eyes are locked on the biggest and meanest boy in the alley, because Bradley’s the one that said “If your father was alive, he’d have done the proper thing and drowned you when you was born.” Steve will make him eat those words, or die trying. His fist is flying when Bradley goes in for another shove, the fat lip splitting under Steve’s knuckles as they land squarely on his dirty lying mouth. Steve can barely feel the sting, and the big oaf’s howls are music to his ears. The howls of the other boys rage is less so, Steve doesn’t stand a chance as he’s knocked flat, feet flying to kick him.

A few blows land but it’s not gone on for more than a half moment, before the blows taper off and the bellows of a new boy, an older boy, become clear. “That’s right! You pick on someone your own size, yeah!” Steve looks up and for a moment, he swears he’s seeing an angel. A halo of light bathes the wild dark hair, back to Steve, the bullies shadowed and distant. Then the boy standing between Steve and the others is moving again, lashing out with fists and feet, being pummeled as hard as he delivers a pummeling to the others. Steve drags himself up and wobbles, the split lip he paid has been repaid with interest. He sports a split lip and bruised cheek of his own, plus creaky ribs that protest every movement.

His right ear is bleeding, but he doesn’t care. Because the boy is being wrestled to the wall by Bradley as the others wail on him. Steve goes to rescue his rescuer, and the fight is on. Fists fly, and it isn’t until the new boy manages to lay Jacob out flat, while Steve’s managed to bust Bradley’s front tooth loose, that the other four boys run off, leaving Jacob to woozily crawl out. Steve gives a final kick to Jacob’s fanny as he makes his wobbly way out of the alley, before turning to his- hopefully, new friend.

Blood all over his tanned face and hands, his cheek scraped and lip split, he looks to be sporting a future shiner, but instead of wiping off the blood or doing anything normal like  wincing, he beams like he just won a prize while he offers his hand to Steve. “Bucky Barnes.” Steve can feel the renewed trickle of blood from his own lip as he returns the grin and takes the hand in his own bruised one and shakes it firmly. “Steve Rogers. Thanks for the hand, but I had them on the ropes.”

Steve doesn’t know what to think, when in response to that Bucky throws back his head and howls with laughter.

Well, what to think beyond the simple thought that Bucky is beautiful when he laughs.

Bucky straightens and his grin gets a fraction wider as he ruffles Steve’s hair and says “Stevie, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.” Steve mock scowls and ducks the hand, his own reaching up to ruffle Bucky’s hair in return “Oh, Yeah? Well, me too!” He loses the gruff tone and mock scowl to grin back again.

They leave the alley tussling and laughing together, heading off towards the Barnes home for the first of many times.

-

Over the next few years, Steve learns how to fight without breaking his knuckles open every time. He only remembers it in the heat of a fight about half the time. He fights to defend others, because Bucky’s there to fight to defend him, now. The bullies go from calling Steve a baby to calling him a pillow biter and every other slang for a queer Beta male they can scrape together. These words hurt far less than when they call him a half girl or a freak.

It hurts even less when Bucky takes to calling him a Punk, stealing the sting from the words that slander them both.

Steve is struggling to pull in each breath, as Bucky rubs his back and chatters at him when they first actually talk about how angry Steve gets when he’s called a girl. It changes their lives together forever more.

-

Bucky’s just finished celebrating his 14th birthday the weekend before. He’s been announced publicly as a true ‘Late Bloomer’. It was just outside the outer bounds of a normal puberty. It was accepted only due to the fact that Bucky was a high end Alpha. In fact, so highly ranked that he rested somewhere up in the top half a percent of the spectrum. No one is really very surprised by Bucky being an Alpha, only that it had taken so long to fully present.

The after school taunts Monday had changed slightly, to speculating if they had been right the first time… so many different variations on the theme of Steve’s secretly being part girl. About how maybe little Stevie Rogers is really a half girl beta, closest a beta could get to an omega, and Alpha Bucky smelled it first. They had loudly speculated that Bucky was going to groom “her” to be an ideal pseudo omega till he won a real one… because he was a prevert, but not a complete prevert like Steve, the half girl beta. All day, the jeers just picked up vitriol and force as Steve visibly fought to keep himself in check.

Steve had finally snapped at this last crude round of jeers. He had gotten so mad he’d charged the entire group, swinging and fighting without a single care to his own limits or the hits he took. He fought and yelled and bellowed his head off, not pausing for breath or conserving his air in any way as he wailed on them. He saw red, and forgot anything but making them shut up. And he knew he did, knew that he got his licks in to shut them all up but good, as he’d never gotten his in before, before the red mixed with the black dots in a swirling shroud that dragged his mind and body down into darkness.

When he came out of seeing red he was being cradled in Bucky’s arms, carried swiftly into the hidden alcove that they had claimed as their own secret hideout when the Fall Street Cathedral had been condemned just before fall equinox after a fire had ravaged the front of it. He also was struggling to breathe.

Bucky was chanting “Breathe in, Stevie, come on, in, the Alcove’s warmer, but if you can’t breathe in there, I’ll have to carry you to the Eir’s Ward on 9th, don’t do that to me, or your mom.” Bucky sounded so worried, his voice cracking as he repeated his plea for Steve to keep breathing even as he shifted Steve in his arms while he levered the sheets of metal aside with his shoulder and hip. He leaned in to set Steve on the moth eaten blankets in the corner before turning to close the lean to behind them.

The alcove had the unique pleasure of being originally built over a steam vent from the boiler. It had helped warm the parish, and keep the plants dedicated to the Holy Mother Mary warm and blooming even in New York winters. The boiler was still used by the shelter and convent on the other side of the property, so the little alcove in the debris was perfect for when Steve’s asthma got to trying to drown him in the cold air. Every breath burned, the cold tinge to the air that followed them in slowly warming, the humidity was fairly well deflected by the mirror and glass shards that Bucky had set up as a sort of filter, leaving the warm air just damp enough without being cloying.

Steve tried to fight his lungs open, breathing in through his nose as he’d been taught, one breath at a time. Each breath a war fought and won. Bucky’s hand rubbing his back a soothing counterpoint to the flow of words from Bucky’s mouth. “Stevie, damn it, you egg for brains. You scared the crap outta me, I’m the one already presented as a hothead. You trying to show me up?” Steve closed his eyes again, focusing on breathing and letting it wash over him.

His lungs still burned, but when he opened his eyes this time, there was no fuzz around his vision, no spots swirling and waiting to knock him out. He was breathing deeper with every breath, but Bucky wasn’t stopping his hand, nor was his cajoling over.

“Seriously Stevie, when you can breathe again, I, not shitting, need to know. I ain’t playing pal. You scared the crap outta me. I gotta know, what about that set you off so very badly. That was, shit, Stevie, that was some, shit, Stevie, that was real A-Level Alpha rage, Stevie, big adult stuff.” Bucky’s own breath hitched harshly as his voice climbed two octaves before dropping like a rock to continue in a slightly gravelly tone. “ _Great Grandfather Guide Me,_ that was, Stevie, that was absolutely terrifying to witness in you. I need to know how to prevent it in the future, okay? _Please_.” The hand on his back was still steady, but Bucky’s voice was cracking near constantly as he spoke the last part urgently, and the hand on Steve’s knee was trembling a bit.

He looked into Bucky’s eyes and saw a desperate need to know, to protect. Bucky is an Alpha, not an alpha, a real Alpha, like the kind that lead armies. Bucky’s father is too. A Romani leader, a clan leader, some even said he was actually the very top of the Alpha scale. Bucky’s mother might be a very very low level Omega, but it didn’t change the fact that Bucky is the son of two the local Roma all saw as leaders. A couple, instead of a triad, who treated each other as equals in their home. Bucky’s sisters had talked about it with him just that past weekend… How the Roma are closer to the roots of the world than any others have managed to stay.

How they would never fear being Omega, because their people, the Roma at least, were filled with real Alphas. Protectors. Providers. Not jailors. They would never be bound, nor wear harnesses. They would live and die free of all cages, no matter what. Because of Alphas like their brother.

And Bucky’s _fully_ presented, and has obviously latched on to protecting _Steve_ , oh Hel take it. Steve gasps out “I’m not a damned kid or some do-” before his lungs seize again, freezing before the wracking coughs take him from speech and leave only room for the battle to breathe.

Bucky looks tense about the eyes as he tries to soothe Steve. But every time he opens his mouth and starts to speak Steve bats at him, glaring though his wheezes. “doll.” he struggles through more breaths before managing. “Ain’t no girl.” again Bucky tries to speak but gets jabbed in the solar plexus for his trouble, Steve gasping out “Not an omega.”

Bucky gives Steve a look like he’s an idiot, and grouses “You gonna let me speak?” to which he gets a magnanimous hand wave as Steve wrestles his lungs back under control again. Bucky gives a wry grin and shakes his head. “Stevie, I know you aren’t an Omega. Probably ain’t a Beta neither. If I had to bet, I’d say you’re sure to present as a full Alpha, or would be if you weren’t born to a beta, and always getting sick.”  Steve manages an inelegant snort and flaps his hand at Bucky, who takes the hint and drops it for the moment.

********

A solid ten minutes of slowly calming wheezing later, Steve looks Bucky defiantly in the eyes and whispers out harshly. “My da was an Inverted Alpha, always chose other alphas, Ma was, was an aberration! And I, I am _literally_ an invert. _Physically_. No way am I anything higher than a broken part alpha, a damn Inverted A at best. Be better off if I really _was_ a, a, a beta girl with a wiggler. Don’t go selling me a crock of horseshit an go a callin it daisies.” Bucky scowls at Steve, going to correct him, but Steve slashed his hand sharply through the air between them, his scowl having taking on a life of it’s own in the heavy feeling of discouragement that swelled between them. The undeniable order hung in the air with a tang of command pheromones and ozone.

******  
**

Bucky froze with a low keen, eyes darting down and it took a few shallow breaths before Bucky dragged in a stuttery deep breath, then breathed out slowly. Bucky shifted his eyes up as far as he could, gaze locked just below Steve’s in deference. His own neck arching just slightly as his own scent changed slightly in instinctive acknowledgement. “Yeah, like you just pulling rank on me, totally what low level alphas can do. Let alone anyone listed as Beta. Yep.” His words were light, but his lips were pulled in a wry twist that spoke of both frustration and bemusement.

Steve was staring in shock, he could try to deny being an Alpha of any worth again, but, at this moment? His gut was clenching and his breath was jittering out of him in spurts for a completely different reason than before. Seeing Bucky deferring was doing strange things to Steve.

Bucky gently settled his hands on Steve’s shoulders while he slowly dragged his eyes up to meet Steve’s own wide ones. He gave a hollow chuckle “Like I said, Punk, no one who don’t get a good gander and snort of you in a proper A-level rage, a real Red-Out’ll ever believe it- but you were a born top of the scale Alpha, if ever I knew one. Even Da told me I had his personal blessing to keep close to you, always. He said he also feels what I do. You’re born to be a leader of man if you somehow manage to survive your true maturing.” Bucky’s voice took on a hint of his father’s cadence. The only people Steve had ever heard reference “true maturing” were the Barnes, and some few other immigrants that came to the Barnes family gatherings.

Steve scowled again. At least he knew the rough meaning Bucky was fishing for with that load of malarky. He started to snap out a scathing reply, his hands moving to shove off Bucky’s. “A Prever-”

Bucky’s own anger scent snapped through the air, and he gave Steve a solid shake by his shoulders. “No. Stop It! I know what they say, but there ain’t no shame in Bonding outta _Love_! Screw what them Church kneelers and Hall Chanters say, ain’t nothing wrong with Alphas bonding. Not no single thing!” Both their accents had been thickening as they fought back and forth. The glare they passed back and forth now instead was so searing hot that it stole both their voices due to it’s intensity.

Steve felt like his heart was hammering at his belly and ribs by turns, his lungs a bellows that could power a forge or fly out of his chest. His stomach was fluttering as if he’d swallowed a crow. His palms were sweaty and slick where he grabbed Bucky’s wrists, but he didn’t pull Bucky’s hands from his shoulders. Didn’t do anything but hold on, bruisingly tight.

He just stared into Bucky’s eyes. Glared into them, as Bucky glared back. Both daring the other to back down.

They might have stayed like that for hours. Maybe it was seconds.

All Steve knew was that the next movement they made seemed to have been some sort of mutual lunge. Because his lips were smashing into Bucky’s, their teeth bruising each other’s mouths as they fell to the side. Steve was on top of Bucky and somehow, Steve was straddling Bucky. Pressing his wrists up beside his head. Bucky’s legs spread out, Steve kneeling, pressing his advantage between them.

A part of him was screaming. He wasn’t going to let himself be a Prevert. He wasn’t no _Fairy_ , no matter what his blood. He was better than his perversions. But the rest of him, the rest of him sang with pleasure at the taste and feel of Bucky. Steve felt his own anger building at this split inside him, at all of this day’s cumulative horsefeathers turning into _this_. He was a damned Invert. A damned Prevert. A failed Alpha. But _Not No One_ could say he was a _pillow biter_. He would rather die lonely than live up to the Sissy Doll role his size and frame seemed determined to push on him.

He pulled back and growled out in an brogue so thick it was near unintelligible, “Ain’t gonna let you fuck me, Jerk. You so afire to be a’bondin knowin if we e’er _do_ ride up inside t’gether, it’s gonna be _you_ a’ Dolling out like a pervert?” His body was hot despite his anger, his cock hard, and some part of him crowed as he felt Bucky’s cock, a bit bigger than his own, jerk and strain where they were pressed together. Bucky’s pleasure at the idea was obvious, part of Steve, the part half raised in a Catholic spinster’s room, the part that listened to the lectures and railings against perversions of the flesh and soul by the teachers and priests and preachers, felt disgusted at them both. The loathing inside was cresting, threatening to tear Steve apart from inside, lashing at the pleasure and joy with every passing second.

Except then Bucky threw his hips up to grind into Steve’s, eyes blown wide, voice a raw husk of need as he moaned back “Wouldn’t want it any other way, Punk.” Suddenly, Steve’s inner diatribe lost almost all of it’s teeth. The wave was gone, burned through with love and a passionate fire that should have turned them both to ash, it was so hot.

Because Steve Rogers really was a Prevert, Pervert, Invert Alpha in love with another Alpha. And this incredible alpha’s Alpha, his best friend since forever? Well, he loved him back. Was submitting. Was, was so foolishly in love he was seeing greatness in Steve where there really was just a malformed weakling too stupid and stubborn to lay down and die.

Steve was a Prevert for Bucky Barnes. Fuck the voice that chanted rules and religion and laws at him. Denying it wouldn’t change it none. Just hurt them both. Steve is sick of pain. He has had enough pain for five lifetimes.

“Ain’t no damn A-level, like you keep goin on ‘bout, but yeah. Yeah, I have dreamed of you since I could dream of matings. You gonna be mine, Buck? Gonna let me hold you, till you can’t stand me no more?” Even as selfish as he was letting himself be, he couldn’t bind Bucky completely. Had to love what parts of Bucky he was gifted, before Buck went off an got himself a real fine Omega or somethin respectable like.

 

Bucky bucked up again, wrists twisting as he growled back. “Ain’t never gonna not want you, Stevie, I am with you till the end of the line. With you to the _tomb_ , Steve, and beyond if I’ve any say.” Fierce and sure, and so damn strong.

Steve wanted to marvel at it some more. Wanted to gawk at how Bucky, his strong, incredible friend, was submitting to _him_. Instead he dove in for a kiss, rocking his hips down sharply.

 

They writhed against each other, Steve’s mouth moving down Bucky’s neck to nuzzle aside the shirt. He knew if he did this, went through with this, he’d be damning them both. He fervently whispered into the skin there - “I’d hold you forever, but ain’t gonna go bindin you down ta me.” a nip, and a fiercer oath pressed like a prayer against warm skin “no’ dow’ ta ‘e” before he let himself go back to just feeling.

His open mouth rested on the far edge of Bucky’s shoulder, gently sucking over the erogenous hot spot of the gland. Bucky started to mewl and groan, words and thought lost to the rhythm of their hips rubbing faster, sounds and smells and sights cresting closer and closer to each other in a way that made the world seem smaller. In that moment they were the only creatures in the whole world.

Steve sucked harder, but was mentally ordering himself to not break skin. Not to pierce the gland. Keep Bucky safe. Don’tbreakskin, a weak but vital counterpoint chant in his mind to Mine!Mine!Mine! He knew, somewhere deep inside that they were both on the cusp of coming. His jaw ached from the strain of not biting down. Every fiber in his being was screaming to just bite down. He keened, straining against the desire, starting to pull back, the chant in his mind now buckybuckybucky. Bucky’s wrists were suddenly slipping free of his grip, strong hands to pull Steve’s head down against the shoulder again, sharply, as Bucky twisted into the renewed and savage suckling.

Steve tasted the tang of blood and the salty musk of the undiluted, pheromone rich, pure tang that was the essence of Bucky. His vision whited out as his eyes rolled in his head and an instinct older than memory took over. His teeth sunk in as he grinded down, hands flying to press the glands on either side of Bucky’s hips, his hands gripping Bucky like he was about to be wrenched from his grasp.

Claiming him.

Bonding them together.

Steve felt bliss. He felt complete, vitally alive in a way he never had before.

It didn’t last.

The pleasure faded as he lapped the raw wound. As his vision cleared, the pleasure started throbbing out and with it’s passing, the consequences sunk in like a blade. “GODS _DAMN_ IT BUCK!” he raged as his thoughts tripped over just what had happened, “what were you thinking?” Pushing up and away to stare into Bucky’s face, to see what damage he’d caused… to see what they had both just done.

Bucky didn’t bother to snap back. No, he drawled instead, snaking his arms above his head to smirk up at Steve as he stretched like he was just lazily waking up from some nap, not freshly bonded to another Alpha, and a weak one like Steve no less. “I was thinkin you are an idiot, and still tryin for bein one of those weird Catholic Saint type people. I was thinkin, you were goin to deny us both what we wanted, out of some misplaced guilt or somethin even stupider like feelin unworthy.”

Steve wanted to punch him. Or maybe kiss him.

Bucky looked up at him through his lashes, all mocking coyness. “Or was I wrong, Stevie?”

Definitely punch him.

Steve rolled off Bucky with a fierce scowl. It felt like he was constantly scowling today.

Like he was on fire inside and out. Like he could feel his insides changing, reacting to Bucky, to his submission. To their bonding. Like his body knew that a strong Alpha had just- just given himself as an invert to Steve. Had all but promised to be Steve’s damn doll. Like Buck wasn’t worth more than a hundred _Dolled up Fairies_.

 

Steve clenched his fists and turned away from Bucky so as not to actually punch him in the arm like he really wanted to right now. He heard Bucky rustling behind him and shifted farther away. Bucky’s voice was soft as he reached forward to Steve’s shoulder. “Stevie-” Steve ducked it with a guttural snarl.

“No, Buck, you don’t get to play all soft like. You just, Damn it, you jerk! You could get jailed for this. Worse, you could get salt-petered for this!” Steve felt his fury growing, shaking him like a leaf in a storm as he felt like vibrating out of his skin. Oh curse it all, what had he done?

“No you don’t, Punk. You stop that. I chose this. WE chose this.” The hand is back on his shoulder. This time he doesn’t shake it off. He doesn’t turn to face Bucky, either, though. He stares at the vent. At the fading light filtered through the stained glass window, it is still somehow mostly intact.

Steve wants to shout, to rail against it some more. But, he already chose. They both know he did, the moment he started mouthing Bucky in that spot. They both know that Bucky’s right. If they weren’t who they are, if the world wasn’t what it is, Steve would be ecstatic about their bonding. If Steve did only what he wanted with no care to Bucky’s safety, if Steve had let himself, he would have sunk his mark in when they started. Would’ve sunk it in and played Bucky’s glands, those key glands that all higher spectrum Omegas and Alphas shared, like a pipe organ.  

Would have marked Bucky, claimed him completely, so never they would part. Woulda guided Bucky’s lips to his own glands, malformed and shrunken as they are, and they would smell like each other forever more. As it is, Steve’s glands will now secrete a far more potent Alpha tinge. His warped body probably can’t mimic Buck’s unique tang exactly. It’ll mark Steve as if his own Alpha scent, and at a stage or five higher than he really is. Will make him smell-

He spun so fast and so hard he lost his balance, falling towards Bucky’s arm where it had been on his shoulder. “Whoah there!” Bucky’s strong arms. Already so corded with muscle. Already so strong. So protective, as they cradled Steve’s smaller frame with ease. Kept him from tipping over. Kept him from falling.

Just like always.

Steve had felt like crying since the first open whispers of his being a girl, earlier that morning.

The tears took figuring out that Bucky, in his stupid, spuds for brains way- had just ensured no one would make the mistake of calling him that again. His eyes filled to overflowing, even as his heart felt like it was crumbling. “You jerk. You JERK. Tell me. Tell me you meant what you said. Tell me this wasn't just to make me smell more Alpha.” Steve closed his eyes, fists clenching the fabric of his trousers into a wrinkled mess as he tried not to fall apart at the sudden crushing thoughts clanking through his brain like tanks.

Bucky didn’t say anything for a long moment, and it was all Steve could do not to scream. Not to shout. Not to sob. Then Bucky was grabbing his head and kissing Steve like the only air he could breathe was the air in Steve’s lungs, his hands curled, one cupping the back of his neck, the other grabbing his hair painfully tight as he pressed the kiss deeply.

Steve could feel the need for air clawing out of his chest, where just a moment before, it had been his heart trying to make an escape. Then he was sucking in great breaths of air, his forehead pressed bruisingly hard to Buck’s as they panted together.

Steve kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see Bucky’s face. It made the wrecked hoarse sound of Bucky’s voice that much more real when he finally answered.

“You really gotta ask? Dummy. I loved you since I saw you fightin off Bradley and the dum dum dollops five to one an half the size of any one of em. I loved you since you bled on my split open hands and grinned all red an white an perfect at me. I didn’t know what love was, or really know what bonding meant, and I was already yours. You really gotta ask? Really? Steven Grant Rogers, I am yours. Always, and in all ways. I am yours, till the end of the line and more. Nothin an no one can ever change that.”

The hand in his hair is sliding through it now, the hand on his neck still firm as iron, but the kisses that Bucky moves to pepper his face are sweet, warm, and make Steve want to cry even harder.

“I really ain’t a girl, Buck. We can’t ever finish the bond. Can’t ever be all open. We’d be arrested, an worse.” Steve pushes out the worst and most painful of the thoughts racing in his mind. It feels like it should slice his throat to ribbons, it is so painful to say.

********

Instead, Bucky kisses him again and again and vows fiercely “Then I find us a sweet little omega doll, perfect and eager, we make a delightful spectacle of ourselves. I finds us the perfect bird, an we share her bed, make us a home, an no one can say what we ain’t just sharin her. We court an we court _and we court_ , brothers of heart and shared blood. Ain’t like half our blood ain’t each others after all the times we’ve bled onto and into each other’s cuts.” Steve cracks a watery chuckle, his eyes slipping open to look at the fool he loves.

****

“We’re a matched pair. A pair of fools.” Steve says with a waiver.

Bucky grins back, the same grin that Steve fell in love with, all those years ago in a dirty alley. The same time Bucky evidently fell in love with him back. “Yeah, but everyone knows that Fools are blessed by all the gods.” Bucky responds.

****  
**** They both laugh, then they promptly get distracted by new pleasures. They manage to lose track of time until nearly midnight.  

\--

Somehow, both Steve’s mother and Bucky’s parents forgive them both.

Maybe it’s because Steve has bloomed finally.

He’s presented as a low level alpha the next weekend. No adult who sees Steve can quite believe he’s really as high as he smells, so it is a compromise that seems to fit best. Among their peers however, it is a different story altogether. Instead some of them whisper he’s really a full on Alpha, but no one can bring themselves to pipe up and challenge it.

Both families keep the boys out of school to celebrate. It’s officially so that Mr. Barnes can teach the young alpha all about being an alpha.

Bucky wasn’t fooling when he said his family approved.

They spend the week cementing the one way bond.

No one ever calls him a girl again.

Doesn’t stop the bullies from trying on calling him a hundred variations on Fairy Pillow Biter.

They just can’t understand why instead of sending him into a rage, it now makes Steve get a viciously knowing smile. He still doesn’t let it stand for long, and the smile itself unnerves them something fierce even when the combined fists of both Steve and Bucky aren’t enough deterrent on their own.

In their little corner of Brooklyn, by the time Steve enters High School, no one in their neighborhood will make comments where either boy can hear it.

-

Everyone in the immediate neighborhood knows when an alpha is announced. Everyone in a  few neighborhoods knew when an Alpha is announced. Omegas? Even low level omegas, from poor families cause a stir. It’s like a festival, the higher the rank and desirability of the omega, the more fuss it causes. Really high level or beautiful Omegas get full tickertape parades. Huge marching bands, floats… the works.

Usually, the Omega’s family doesn’t pay a dime. It’s always been like that. Always.

In 1934, the Great Depression is in full swing. Instead of winding down, Omega announcements are now the spectacle all children and most adults pray for. Free entertainment is worth far more. And with recent news, the competition has gotten even fiercer.

-

The US census, released when Steve and Bucky are Seniors in highschool, lists less than one in 30 children will grow up to be some spectrum of Omega. One in 12 will be some spectrum of Alpha. It lists the beta on beta fertility rate, as one child per couple per five years. Childhood mortality for non-omega born children is still around ten percent. The orphan trains are more active than ever, as beta couples are scrambling to snap up children, as if more won’t be born.

Steve remembers reading the papers for weeks after the Census, ranting about it. About how Bucky’s better off without him ruining his chances with an actual omega.

They spend a lot of time wrestling in their respective bedrooms for most of that month. Steve may or may not enjoy how Bucky had taken to distracting Steve from his worries.

Buck’s mouth is hot, firm, and oh yes, very wet.

Bucky’s entire family finds the ruckus between the boys entertaining, however Steve hears the loud discussions many of the visiting Alphas have… The scarcity is worrisome to everyone, but especially the fiercely free Barnes clan.. Most of the things they say are in another language than English, one that Steve doesn’t speak, but he sometimes sees the strain in Bucky’s eyes, when Steve presses too far. Like he did today.

Bucky seldom pins Steve, but right now, he has him pinned, and the only reason Steve doesn’t shove him off is that Bucky looks wild, eyes flashing and strain creasing his brow and narrowing his eyes as he rants. “Courting, displaying is one thing, but this! Steve, you act like some dame or omega ain’t gonna ever choose, or will choose against you. An I tell you, with how some of these knob-heads are actin, just bein us, no extra flash, might be enough to woo em. Just the knowledge that we ain’t gonna turn em into a baby factory or some other nonsense! At least it’s only the two of us, and not some great honkin huge clan, like somethin outta the middle ages!”

This strain, this particular fight, was all because Steve had seen the huge platform the Wernstein brothers had erected. The Wernstein clan was headed by a quadrad, two beta females, an omega male and an alpha male. They had 30 children over the course of 15 years. Every one of them strapping and hale. Every one of them male.

The Omega, Markus, died giving birth to the one and only female child. That was 9 years ago. The brothers, all 29 of them, were joint wooing Tristan Worke, a sweet faced Omega, who smelled like heaven when he came outside. Tristan was just turning 15, and was eligible for full courting so he could make an informed decision with the help of his family.

The eldest Wernstein brothers had organized all their friends to make an elaborate fighting ring on a mobile platform. It had rotating sections of mats, confetti cannons, a grandstand, the works. And all of it was able to be rolled along or carried. And the brothers were taking all comers, day or night, dedicating each match to Tristan.

Steve hadn’t been thinking about how horrible it must be for Tristan, not until Bucky’s words sunk in. He’d only been thinking how he could never lift the stupid platform, or really win fights. He couldn’t do flips or juggle swords. He couldn’t do feats of strength, speed, endurance… none of that. And no one wanted an Alpha that painted or drew. Which was about the only thing Steve did well enough to try and use as a feat of wonder and display of skill.

 

But now, Steve’s mouth fell open. His eyes widened with horror and his cheeks flushed with an entirely different spark of outrage. Bucky saw it, and snorted as he shook his head “Yeah, Punk, that’s exactly it. You done feelin sorry for yourself?”

The Wernstein boys were goading any would be suitors. Were shaming any who didn’t fight them. Making a spectacle, and effectively maneuvering Tristan into mostly only seeing them. “They’re trapping him!” Steve yelped, his voice raising high with dismay, face pulling into a scowl.

Bucky groaned and thunked his own forehead against Steve’s. “No. Stop. Don’t.” He halfheartedly begged “Come on Stevie-” Steve was fast becoming angry. “Why isn’t anyone DOING anything?” Bucky thunked his head against Steve’s shoulder and shifted his grip on Steve’s wrists.

“While it is nice to have you not wallowing, can we please focu-” Bucky tried, again, to re-direct Steve. It was about useless, but he had to try. Steve, as he had thought, was having none of it. “Buck, they’re trapping him! This, this spectacle, this is what your Father and the other Alphas have been grumbling about. What are they going to do to stop this?”

Bucky really wished Steve had a setting besides stupidly self sacrificing and stupidly self flagellating. No confidence and infinite confidence to save others. Full speed or dead stop. Sometimes Bucky really wondered if Steve wasn’t a top of the scale Alpha trapped in a half pint body. Other times, like now, he was sure of it.

“Steve,” Steve started to interrupt Bucky again, and something in Bucky sparked. He snarled and lifted Steve’s wrists only to slam them back down again. “No. You listen to me, Punk!” Steve stared up at Bucky, shocked into silence and jarred from his growing anger for the moment. “Yes, they’ve seen something like this on the horizon for a while. Yes they have been working with each other.” Bucky presses his forehead against Steve’s collarbone again, taking adeep breath before continuing. “However they legally can’t do anything as bonded Alphas with bonded mates. Not unless they want to try and claim Tristan as a clan Omega, which is exactly the precedent they are trying to avoid. The laws are all sorts of messed up right now, Steve, and the best solution that they’ve agreed on, is to point small groups of hopefuls at Tristan with sound plans on how to move around the Wernstein brothers.”

Steve makes a pained sound when Bucky lifts up to meet his eyes again. “Yeah, you putz. That is exactly why we are still gonna go acourtin Tristan, and any other Omega that presents. Ta give em options.” Steve looks pained, but also fiercely proud. “Buck, I-” Bucky smiles and kisses him.

They get distracted from the heavy talking, and for the next few hours, Steve is kissed on, and kisses Bucky on, every inch of skin on they have.

-

They court Tristan, who chooses the joint offer of the Millers and Glenn brothers, a quintet of jazz musicians, the youngest Murdock and both Glenn brothers are betas, and the older Murdocks are a low level Alpha and a younger alpha. They’d grown up as neighbors, and were well known in Jazz circles.

Bucky remembers Steve earnestly talking about the music, and smiles to himself, not upset at all that Steve inadvertently sold the Millers and Glenns to Tristan. He also notices the sketch Steve did of Tristan is in fact used for the first poster of the Glenn and Miller band’s first new performance. Tristan sure can sing, even without his sultry in person presence.

 

Then there’s Jack. His presentation is, interesting. His family is eager for an advantageous match. However when they show up, Carl is the only one Jack has eyes for. And Carl may be a real jerk, but it’s obvious that he loves Jack back, despite not having anything fancy or flash to demonstrate his courtship.

So Steve and Bucky both run interference with Jack’s family… They can’t really be surprised or mad when Jack and Carl bond. In fact they’re happy for them.

-

Bucky and Steve graduate. Bucky works in the docks, as much to build connections as to make money. Steve gets a job with the signmaker’s guild, apprenticeship pays crap, but it’s useful for courting. Steve’s mother starts to get ill, her cough getting far worse. She still pushes Steve not to give up courting. “You have, such a good thing with Bucky. All you need is a good balance.” She smiles, and Steve would almost take her at her word, except for how pinched her eyes get. For how sad she looks when he catches a glimpse of her face in reflections.

She knew his father. She knew his perversions were the same as his Da’s. It hurt her, how he had chosen to fall in, but she tried. For him. Always for him.

Steve sometimes has trouble not hating himself for that.

-

Mary is a jem, but she’s far too timid for them. They make an effort to court her anyways, but her eye is caught by the demonstrations of the fraternal Magden twins. Alpha Emily and beta Emile. They literally throw each other up to the rooftops and back. Their feats of strength and agility are topped only by their incredible willingness to drape banners between skyscrapers on a series of ropes. They get a slap on the wrist from the cops. The buildings get free press. As does their proposal of bonding.

The twins also get Mary’s shy smile and a quiet “yes, you idiots.” after they get out of the pokey. They settle into a family, and by the time a year has passed, you’d think they’d been happily married for decades.

-

They both get hopeful about Maureen. She seems to like them both. Then a talkie is filmed and released, starring the adventures of an Alpha actor trying to court, yes, her. She marries the alpha from the big pictures. She moves out to Hollywood, as most of the talkies are filmed there. They wish her well. Steve never gets a chance to give her the last painting he did of her laughing at something Buck had said. Buck doesn’t let him paint over it- instead he stashes it in the Barnes attic. “It’s too good to just go paintin over. Asides, someday, you’ll be a famous painter.” Steve grumbles, but the kisses and wrestling do distract him, till it is mostly out of his mind.

-

Janice is swell, but she likes female alphas. She bonds a set of three sisters from New Jersey who bring a massive parade through the Bronx past Janice’s apartment. Flyers proclaiming the event, one co-run by the Businesses of the Boardwalk of Atlantic City, will “Bring the boardwalk to you!” It sure does. Steve and Bucky get pushed around in a wicker cart, laughing with delight.

The Rosenthal family, not to be outdone, opened a competing event, cajoling Janice, and any others to "leave the flimsy rides of the mobile boardwalk, for the solid thrills of Coney Island!". It was a memorable weekend between the two groups.

Bucky cajoles Steve into riding on the Cyclone, since tickets are free during the event. Steve does, and regrets it immediately. Bucky would regret it more, but he has had too much fun, even if Steve did puke on his shoe.

The Rosenthals do similar courtings two times more- on the third try they manage to snag an enthusiastic Omega named Daniel Smith, who laughs with delight and says yes to their offer as he rides the newest ride time after time, named Daniel's Wild Ride. It sure is wild.

They bond at the park, and most of Brooklyn mock mourns the loss of free park days.

-

Then there is Patrice.

Bucky thinks Patrice is perfect. Steve, well he tries to go along with it. Patrice seems to barely put up with Steve, only grimacing in Steve’s direction after Bucky prompts her.

He paints her a picture. He does the song and dance of joint courting. His heart just isn’t in it. He wishes Bucky would realize what a real drag he is in courting. Patrice is beautiful. A dark beauty to match Bucky’s own.

Steve doesn’t say anything though- he doesn’t want to start another fight.

He does stay back a moment when they are about to leave one day. He looks into her eyes and says “You can have Buck, without having to take me.” Her smile back is cold and calculating “I know. Good day Rogers.”

Steve leaves like his pants are on fire.

He goes home to Ma instead of over to the Barnes like he usually would after a long day of courting.

It’s cold, colder than it has been in years, when he opens the door.

Steve feels it seep into his bones. Feels it freeze him inside. Because his mom is cold too.

He looses the next week in a blur.

There’s the funeral to plan. There’s sorting her things.

There’s the flat to sort. He’ll have to move. He can’t afford the flat on an apprenticeship.

Through it all there is Bucky beside him.

Steve remembers Patrice on the way to the flat after the funeral. He doesn’t remember what he said, but he remembers Bucky’s hand squeezing tight on his shoulder. He remembers how warm and large it was. Remembers Bucky’s fierce voice and eyes as he swears to be with Steve till the end of the line again.

Steve finally breaks down, in Bucky’s arms, on the stoop to the flat. It’s stupid. He’s acting like some hormonal omega or girl. Bucky doesn’t seem to care. He just holds him close, rocking them both. He smells so reassuring. He smells like home, has smelled like home, more than Steve’s own mother even, for years now. It just makes Steve cry harder.

Bucky moves them into the flat, onto the bed. They fall asleep, and in the morning, Bucky talks him into sharing the flat with him.

They make it work, somehow. They eat a bit less well than they had when spending more nights at the Barnes, and it shows in how they both drop a pound or two.

-

Nothing is said directly, but they taper off on Omega courting. Instead, Bucky seems to find every pair of Beta sisters in the greater Brooklyn area to try and charm into giving the pair of them a chance.

Steve sometimes will get churlish, mentioning how Buck could stop trying to drag him into this. Buck usually shuts it down by responding that Steve could also finish their bond, but one was as likely as the other.

They fight quite often. But they also make love quite often. Never anything more than blowjobs or frottage, but they don’t really need more.

-

There are rumors of war brewing. Bucky’s family, the entire community, all the Barnes connections, are tense with growing certainty. Steve hears them, talks with Bucky about it, late at night.

Most of Brooklyn is ignoring the growing shadow over Europe. Bucky can’t. And since Bucky can’t, neither can Steve.

It continues to haunt them, this specter of war, for nearly a year. More and more of Bucky’s cousins, extended clan, are volunteering. First through Canada, then just buying a ticket. To do their part. To defend the extended family left behind.

Steve knows their days are numbered when Bucky’s oldest sister’s husband leaves for the newly opened US boot camp. Steve clutches Bucky, late that night. He curses his body. Frail in all the ways it should be strong.

Steve hardens inside, just a little more. Something that had been a single contrary grain crystallized into something more. He goes to the first recruitment office in secret the next day.

He gets rejected.

He hides the paperwork, and pushes himself to try and get stronger by doing exercises on the roof. All he does is catch a horrible cold.

-

Bucky comes to art class with Steve sometimes. Sometimes as a model, sometimes as a student. The teacher, a known Fairy, seems to know about them somehow. He encourages Bucky to stop in whenever he can.

They are standing shoulder to shoulder, working on sketching out a canvas for Steve to paint over the coming week. The radio is playing Tristan’s smooth vocals, when suddenly it cuts out.

A special bulletin.

Steve remembers grabbing Bucky’s hand so hard they both have tiny bits of charcoal embedded in their palms from where it was trapped between them. He remembers staring at the radio, but all he could really remember is one thought. 'I will loose Bucky if I can’t join him'.

Deep in his gut, he knew Bucky was already going to go. But the stakes just rose so much farther.

They head home, still in a daze. Forgetting to let each other’s hand go. Not caring really.

When they get into the apartment, Bucky kisses Steve hard, wrapping himself around Steve like he could pull him into his body and make Steve a part of himself. Steve isn’t really surprised when Bucky makes the demand.

“I want you inside me. I’m sick of waiting.” Bucky’s voice is thick with a hundred other things that they aren’t saying. Steve knows. He knows, that tomorrow, Bucky’s going to go off and do stupid things. Brave things. The right thing. Tonight, Bucky is his. Tomorrow, Bucky will be giving himself to the Army.

“Yeah, Buck. Me too.” He kisses Bucky, trying to devour him, to express everything that is jammed up in his throat. They tumble to the bed, and clothes are lost, marks sucked and nipped into every inch of Bucky’s chest, as Steve does his best to make this an unforgettable night.

For both of them.

Steve’s fingers explore, then tease. They stretch Bucky slowly, slick with cooking oil. He sucks Bucky off, wringing broken sounds from him, and then he slowly teases and nips, giving time for Bucky to recover. “Just _do_ it already, punk!” Bucky finally snarls. Steve feels his heart flutter even as his cock jumps at the idea. “Yeah yeah, patience.”

Steve gets in position, face to face with Bucky, slowly pressing in. It is like nothing either has ever experienced before.

They slide together like two pieces of a whole. Steve’s cock is still much smaller than Bucky’s, by no means small, but not the long and wide rod that bumps against their bellies as Steve settles all the way inside Bucky for the first time.

The feel is enough to make Steve gasp, his chest two sizes too small for his lungs and heart as he looks into Bucky’s eyes, embraced by his body in every way. Bucky’s knees over his hips. His hands on his back. And his body pulling at his cock, so warm and tight, that Steve thinks he may never think straight again. He leans in to capture Bucky’s mouth with his own.

He breaks off to whisper brokenly “I love you so much Buck.” Bucky groans, his own voice breathy and broken- “I love you too, Stevie, now move!” Steve huffs a laugh “Pushy” then he does.

It’s just like the stories say. Better.

It’s incredible. And it’s even better because it’s Bucky.

His Bucky.

They both pass out twined together, clinging to each other.

Neither one of them says the other words. The words of goodbye. The words of how Bucky needs to do this.

They’ve said them before. Even if not in exactly those words.

-

Steve wakes up alone. Bucky’s dressy outfit is gone. Steve cleans up, and heads to the Bronx office.

He hides the 4F and manages to make it home before Bucky. He cooks a larger meal than they can really afford.

When Bucky comes home, his smile is fake. His letter is stamped with all the glowing reviews Steve knew they would have.

They tumble into bed, dinner only half eaten. Steve wakes to a plate of leftovers. No note. But clean dishes.

The next week follows the pattern. Bucky goes to work, most of his co-workers are following him into the service. Steve goes to work. A few of the Journeymen and half of the Apprentices are talking about joining.

Then Bucky is shipping out to training camp.

Bucky’s sisters, and even his father, stop by with casseroles every other night. They feed him better than they ever had when Bucky was living with him. Their eyes are scared and sad. Steve hates it. He wants to shout that he's an Alpha too. He's not going to let Bucky go die alone. They can't look at him, like he's going to fall apart. Or he will.

Steve goes to five more recruiting offices over the next five weeks.

He has a collection of 4Fs now.

He also has a collection of bruises in every hue and shape across his body. His temper is shot, and without Bucky, no one is there to protect his right side, the mostly deafened side.

Steve goes to picture. He knows it’s a stupid idea to go alone, but he can’t help it.

Bucky is due back tomorrow morning. Steve can’t stop thinking about it. Here for a day. And then he loses Bucky. For a year or two, says his logic, forever, says his heart.

So when the big jerk, a dumb beta, gives him an excuse? Yeah he picks a fight.

Because the man is an ass. And needs to be taught manners.

Not because Steve wants to scream. Not because his 6th, and last easy to get to office’s, 4F is burning a hole in his pocket.

No. Because the man was rude.

Steve smells him around the same time he hears him. Bucky. A day early. A full night and day.

Then the beta is scurrying off.

And Bucky is talking about the Future. Has them a date. A courting. The one night they will have together. He wants to go courting.

Steve doesn’t know what his emotions are doing. He just knows that he’s not going to ruin Bucky’s one night off.

-

He’s ruining the night. Everything smells sour. Everything sounds too loud. The bang from the flying car crashing down made Steve want to punch out everyone around him. His skin felt like every breeze was a thousand cobweb strands or insects crawling over him.

Then he sees the recruiting office.

What the hell. Why not?

Bucky comes up to him, and they fight. Bucky knows what Steve is doing, has to have known Steve would try. Would keep trying.

And instead of standing and fighting about it, Bucky leaves him to it, with his own exasperated form of blessing. Steve wants to say “I love you, but I have to do this.” instead he says that Bucky is taking the stupid with him.

He knows Bucky is probably not saying the same. Logically, Steve even understands the courting. The need to make sure Steve is safe.

But that’s the thing. They may have never finished the bond- but Steve is Bucky’s. And where Bucky goes, Steve will follow. No matter what.

-

Doctor Erskine leans in close after their first talk, sniffing hard.

His eyes widen a bit, and he specifically looks over Steve’s shoulders and gland sites.

Whatever he sees, seems to make him very pleased. “Yes, you may be exactly what we’ve needed, all this time.”

-

The next afternoon, Steve is in a special room in Erskine’s lab at  Fort Leigh, and Bucky is somewhere over the Pacific, probably sure that Steve is doing something stupid. Maybe he thinks Steve got himself arrested.

Bucky is half right, if he thinks Steve is doing something stupid.

Because Steve is suffering through his first weak pseudo-heat, sealed into a room by a cheerful Erskine, who says it will be their secret. That Steve is simply perfect, that he has blended so well, far better than most. That he might just be the perfect choice. A man who acts like Steve has hidden this knowingly.

All Steve can manage to focus on through the haze of need for Bucky, is that if only he had known- he’d have bonded Bucky a decade ago.

He also keeps sticking on another fact. His entire life, has been a lie. He doesn't know who he is, now. **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. Let me know if you catch any more formatting errors. Between my italics breaking somehow and garbling sentences and my touch-pad playing merry hell on moving sentences, the first upload was horrible. orz
> 
> I am so sorry, early readers. So sorry. orz


	2. "Slang of 1920s-1940s A-O Verse"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some of the odd slang I used in the fic- with added nerdery on why I used it.

**Invert,** specifically is "Sexual Inversion" coined in 1897 and made into a pop culture reference by "The Well of Loneliness" in 1928.

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Well_of_Loneliness>

Inversion was, a kind way of saying BORN gay.

1903 Myers Human Personality I. p. xx, Preversion, a tendency to characteristics assumed to lie at a further point of the evolutionary progress of a species than has yet been reached; opposed to reversion - See more at:[ http://findwords.info/term/preversion#sthash.2TZ7pH49.dpuf](http://findwords.info/term/preversion#sthash.2TZ7pH49.dpuf)

 **Preverts** were, well, real slang from the 1920s and 30s, for people who were, those who gleefully threw themselves off the plane of normal men, and felt no shame for being gay.

It was one thing to be Inverted. It was another to be Perverted (engage in said Inverted Sexual Desires), it was yet another to be wanton and blatantly gay.

To go off the social convention of a passing attempt at pretending normalcy. Not bothering to fake a desire to be normal, showing no desire to hide, and embracing the blasphemous perverse acts of sexual deviancy. A real Prevert. (Probably started as tongue in cheek, got co-opted and then turned against the gay community that had started using it, if I've any guess).

**Punk,** is actually in early period slang, used to denote what we would currently call a Twink.  Often it is implied that Punks were well paid/kept by, rough equivalent of Sugar Daddies now. By the 1940s the slang being purely about catamite gay boys is phased out, but it is a slow process over the 30s to get there.

**Dolling** is a direct, vital reference to the Drag Culture brewing in the early 1920s in the North East. Thriving in Harlem, by 1928, there are rather public (for the time)"Drag Balls" being held. Gay men who are receptive to being penetrated are now given a, public face. It's incorrect, but at the time trans women are lumped in with gay men, and slang "To doll" as a male is likely to come to common use, especially in such a strictly coded gender and status society. **  
**

We have all the crap from Ergi based myths for the Norse influences, and all the bullshit +++ from our dear friend Leviticus. There is a very open dialog in our own history that says (between the lines) It's more shameful to take it than to dish it out. Seeking to get screwed as a male is disgusting, but screwing, if they look pretty, just means you couldn't get a decent girl and settled for any hole in a storm.  You're pathetic, and if it is only in times of hardship, it's shameful but not unforgivable.  Just imagine how much worse it is in a world with biological hard wired and sociocultural hierarchies determined by your scent, genes and physical presence as an alpha. And then, as an Alpha, the ultimate in biological natural leader to their view- You choose to submit to another Alpha. **  
**

Like an Omega or a Beta Woman. **  
**

Yeah, no way Dolling doesn't become slang for willingly taking it up the duff.

 

To **Red-Out** is to be filled with so much rage, that you see Red. Alphas are prone to this, and the higher on the scale the closer to a classic Berserker this becomes. A high rank Alpha can shrug off mortal blows, standing to fight until the rage ends or their muscles are fully severed.

 

Leave comments asking about any others I use in the fic, I'm sure I missed some! :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAH! Caught some nasty formatting errors- my touchpad has sabotaged me again! D: 
> 
> If anyone spots more funky paragraphs or partial sentences that lead to nowhere, give a shout. 
> 
> My poor sex scene was all garbled due to what looks like highlight and drag or highlight and type goofs with the touchpad... orz

**Author's Note:**

> Mixed the two prompts together for this one:  
> Prompt One: It's been tradition as far back as anyone can remember for alphas to court omegas. Alpha courtship displays are almost always a spectacle, gaining attention from family, friends, neighbors, sometimes even the news, if it's big enough. Most omegas enjoy the displays and like taking their time choosing between suitors. Steve could be one of these omegas, or he could be on the outside looking in. What are his thoughts on it all? Could be any time period.
> 
> Prompt Two: Everyone who meets Steve for the first time expects him to fit into the stereotypes (small=omega=innocent, big=alpha=experienced). He doesn't always bother to correct them. How do people react when they (eventually) find out the truth?
> 
> Further AN: Due to the sheer level of editing the original needs, I am glossing large chunks of it- yeah- just short bursts of Steve memory, more streamlined, less bogged down I hope. Prequels and codas will be incoming over the next few months. This ate my brain. It's far fluffier than my Mad Max verse- which is full of everything wrong with my trash heap brain.
> 
> Please do leave feedback and comments on anything that delighted, puzzled, threw or otherwise was worth commenting on. :D


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